Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love
by Lunatic with a Hero Complex
Summary: When Harry finds that things from the war won't leave him alone,he falls into insanity. His friends enlist Draco Malfoy to snap him out of it. But Draco isn't sure that Harry's madness is natural. Is he Harry's last chance at coming back to life?
1. A Tree Dear Not the Roots

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

Chapter 1-**A Tree, Dear, Not the Roots**

Lunatic with a hero Complex

Harry dreamt in green. It meant of course that what sleep he got was no sleep at all, just a brief time in which he closed his eyes and deeply studied the color green.

Sometimes, Harry lived in green too. Like looking at the world under the cover of very thin green cellophane. He walked with the color, he ate with the color, he slept with the color. It was everywhere.

At first, Harry had been convinced it was his eyesight going bad from such a decidedly rough childhood. So he'd seen a mediwizard. A mediwizard that had stated "as far as she could tell, Harry's only visionary problems were the ones that necessitated his glasses."

And yet, the world was still green.

It was when Ginny told him that she didn't think that what they had was meant to go beyond the bonds of truly deep friendship, that Harry realized how much the grass tinted glasses were affecting his life.

It was also around the time of Ginny's departure that Harry realized exactly what _shade_ of green was following him around. Acid green. Green like his eyes. Avada green.

And he also seemed to understand why it was there. _It _was not going to leave him. The final time, the sacrificial moment in the woods, was not planning on leaving him be. It felt that he needed reminding.

The drapes were the only things left unbroken in the house.

* * *

When Hermione came over a week and a half after Ginny left, she had trouble, to say the least, getting through the front door. The dishes that had sat tidily in the cupboards, always ready for whatever guests popped by, had now become the shattered decoration on the floor, the little golden snidgets fluttering their wings and opening their beaks in silent indignation at their broken flying space.

The dining table was kindling scattered to the four corners of the room, and the pictures on the walls were just gone, as though the force that had taken siege to the kitchen had simply willed them out of existence, leaving the nails all perfectly undisturbed.

She made it through the dining area, entering the living room and once again witnessing the gravesites of many noble pieces of furniture. A coffee table, 2 years old, deceased; a couch 22 years old, disemboweled and ultimately diseased; 10 bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey, gutted and left to bleed on the floor. Ginny had said that Harry had taken it like he'd been taking everything lately, calmly, politely, understandingly, in a word, blank. A skeptical eye looked at the space, she may be no psychiatrist, but this did not appear to be the work of a blank, calm, passive man. This looked like the den of an angered lion.

Despite her worry, her inner self snorted.

What a lovely and oh so apt pun, Hermione Granger, perhaps now we can think of a way to rhyme pope with dope.

She moved through the solemn living room and towards Harry's study. A study she really hadn't understood the function of. Harry had decided against Auror training, feeling that perhaps, he had caught enough dark wizards to fill the quota for his life. He'd foregone University, saying that really, more people trying to plan his future wasn't exactly what he felt he needed.

What exactly was he going to study?

As she leaned in the doorway and observed one of her oldest friends, she found she could think of many things he was currently a study in.

He was in his rolling chair, something she'd often walked in on him playing in during personal moments, rolling this way and that, stopping to spin every so often. She'd found it endearing. Now, however, he was sitting still, his legs propped up on the desk, and a still living bottle of firewhiskey keeping his left hand company as his right hand rested on an open book in his lap.

"Harry?"

He looked up at her, seeming completely unsurprised at her presence. "Hermione." Then his head went back to perusing the book and she was left once more in an awkward position.

She picked her way daintily across the, though intact and not destroyed, messy office. There was a stack of books in the chair that sat on the other side of the desk, the one reserved for visitors. She picked them up and sat down in it, taking a moment to look at the books she'd grabbed.

Green Light Stop By: Kildala Themen

Dissecting the Killing Curse By: Deanna Ceese

Wizards of the Middle Ages: The metamorphosis of Healing By: Renee Santant

It didn't help much. So, he was researching the killing curse. That much was obvious, but it didn't tell her why. She couldn't really see what this would have to do with Ginny leaving. Sure they'd been kind of serious for about 2 and a half years, but it had been a friendly parting, so she thought, she didn't think he was about to run off and kill Ginny, not after what he went through to obtain peace.

"Harry, we haven't seen you in a while, we've been kind of worried. What have you been doing, well besides playing ball in the house obviously."

Harry didn't even look up this time, choosing instead to keep reading and talk to her at the same time, "Haven't been able to leave, researching, its very important, got to make the green go away, then I can sleep."

Hermione had the distinct feeling that Harry had been drinking for a little while before she came to visit. She couldn't leave him like this, he looked like hell. There were deep purple bags under his eyes, and he looked like he probably hadn't eaten since

Ginny left. He was killing himself, and she didn't even know what for. It had to stop, or at least pause for a moment. She stood and walked around the desk, standing in front of him for a long moment to see if he would acknowledge her before leaning down and grabbing the edge of the book and beginning to tug it away, it looked like The Final Unforgivable By: Artemis Glask.

The effect was instantaneous. Harry snapped his head up, pushed the rolling chair back from her and….and an angry glare so full of mindless fury that she recoiled came from his eyes, those eyes that usually reminded her of innocent children, but which today made her think of a delirious fever patient. She let go of the book and backed away. When she felt that she was far enough away not to be threatening, she steeled herself again, "Harry is there anything I can get for you while I'm here? Would you like something to eat?"

Harry stared at her mistrustfully a moment more, before resuming his studying, and replying in a muttered tone, "I'll eat when I'm done, I've got to find the answer."

Hermione felt like crying. Something in there was broken, and she had no idea what it was. Ron was on assignment in Russia, something about a very angry Russian witch with a house that most diligently defended itself and the family members within all without needing any instructions. However the point was that he wasn't here, which meant, he couldn't give her advice. To be honest, she didn't even know if he would've helped anyway. There seemed to be something else completely wrong with Harry. He had signs of mania, and hallucinations. But he still appeared aware of what was going on around him.

She thought that maybe, Harry didn't need a friend. He needed one of two things, 1) A professional that could just talk a little to Harry and find out what was wrong and how to fix it…

Or

2)An enemy who was just apathetic enough to Harry's show of anger and sensitivities that they would bypass it completely and annoy the ever living fuck out of Harry regardless of his feelings.

And she thought, that, if she could convince her mind that she wasn't showing symptoms of insanity herself, she knew a person that fit both criteria.

* * *

After the battle of Hogwarts, it had been quite obvious that the Malfoy family no longer had the world on a string. Everything they achieved was achieved throught the regular and normal channels. It was, to say the least, slow.

However, of all of his family members, Draco had adapted most easily to the work gain philosophy of their new existence. He'd decided very early on that the life he'd had, the one that had led to running from fiend fire set by his own school chum and clinging for life on the broom of one Harry Potter, was perhaps not a life he should be so dedicated to maintaining.

So Draco decided to go to University. He wanted to be a psychiatrist, help people understand why they did some of the really truly stupid things they did and try to help them stop doing them. Of course, he still had a few years to go before he was actually legally certified to be called Dr. Malfoy, but he was moving along quite nicely, attending Uni on a series of scholarships, and doing well in all of his classes.

Right now, he was camped out in the library, planning to stay there until finals week concluded and the summer holidays shouldered their way in. He wasn't the only one, there were little campsites on all floors, groups of students huddled together like conspirators, speaking the faded words of ancient books in murmurs to themselves and to each other. So he guessed that's why it really wasn't surprising when Granger came in, though her packing seemed a little light for the traditional camping trip.

He was, however, quite shocked when she made to set up right next to him. At his table. In his breathing space. He valiantly tried to ignore her, hoping that she would evaporate to a less annoying location. Draco found that the longer he tried to ignore her, the more intense and pleading her silent stare got.

Finally, he just whipped around to face her, "What, Granger?"

She flinched back, surprised at his sudden movement, and became, magically one might say, shy. It irritated him. All that time spent trying to silently gain his attention and all of a sudden, she's shy, and won't talk? Please. It must be rather major to shut Granger up. "Well, what is it? I have exams to study for, as do you, I'm sure."

The mention of academics seemed to pull her out of her shell of silence.

"You're a psychology major, right?"

"Yes, Granger, notice the plethora of psychology related materials here on my table, you see how I worded that, _my_ table?"

"Well, I have a problem that is somewhat in need of a psychological fix, and after examining all of the aspects of it, I've discovered that you seem to be the most suitable person to help me with it."

She seemed pleased with herself for her logic and Draco found that really, he just wasn't as impressed. "Granger, I can not foresee any reason why I would want to help you with whatever psychosis has chosen to take up residence in your brain. Not to mention that I am most definitely not certified yet, and therefore unqualified to assist the mentally unstable."

And then he turned back to his books, feeling that he had sufficiently dismissed the matter. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Granger did not quite agree.

"It's not me, Malfoy…its…well….its."

Knowing from experience how impossible it would prove to ignore her, he snapped on her again, "Well what, Granger?"

He was most definitely not prepared for the rush of sound that came out of her mouth.

"WellitssortakindaHarryPotterwhohastheproblemandIreallyImeanhereallyneedsyourhelp, please."

Draco blinked at her for an interminably long second while his brain sorted out what the bloody hell she'd just said. When it did, disbelief immediately took up residence there. "Harry Potter? What, in this wide world would make _me_ the prime candidate to psychologically sooth Harry Potter?!"

Finding that perhaps his studying was becoming a lost cause currently, he gathered the books that were his, leaving the ones that weren't, and began to leave the library. Granger persisted anyway.

He was once again, not impressed.

As he walked down the library steps, determinedly trying to focus only on where he was going, Granger followed him, "Draco, I know you didn't get along at all while you were at school and that you haven't exactly been pen pals since the end of the war, but I really think you're his best chance."

Draco stopped cold again. He had to accept that he was not going to get away from her. She would more than likely follow him all the way to his apartment. A location he really did not want her to have. He turned, "Listen Granger, I'm going to finish this right now. I caused the death of his mentor. I almost killed him. I insulted his friends. I was very much the thorn in his side. I do not think that it is at all logical that I am going to be his miracle cure. So. Find. Someone. Else." He bit the last part off and turned around yet again, believing that at last he had shut her up. He was to be disappointed.

"I think he's dying."

He stopped.

"The house was destroyed, it doesn't look like's he's put anything in his body except air and firewhiskey for at least a week. He doesn't sleep. He barely talks. All he does is sit there and read and read and read. If you try to stop him, he…he..changes. I don't want to hurt him, and I don't want to make him angry. I need someone who doesn't care about that, but who will know when to stop. You're the only one I can think of. I think you're his only chance."

Draco stood quite still. He was hoping that the whole situation would just pass him by. How he always got drawn into the thick of things, he would never know. "I will look at him, Granger, and I do mean just looking. I won't promise you anything helpful, or even anything at all, but I will look at him. I'll come by Saturday."

And then finally, at last, he walked away.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had made a point of not paying attention to what was going on in Harry Potter's life after the war. He had felt that it was best if he left himself completely out of the man's life and vice versa.

He had to admit, he was a little curious.

The house that Granger had taken him to was nice, but not opulent. Two stories, but a medium sized two stories. The house was white, but the shutters were a dark green and there were columns in front of the door attached to a second floor balcony.

However, on the inside, things were completely different. Granger had warned him, but he just was not prepared. Smashed dishes, destroyed furniture, empty liquor bottles, exactly like she'd said. "Did you not think to pick any of this up?"

Granger blushed and he knew she actually hadn't thought of it, "I was just so worried about Harry, I didn't think to…." She didn't finish, but she didn't have to, Draco knew what she meant. Just in such a rush to help the boy wonder, she didn't have time to clean up his home.

But she continued anyway, "And to tell the truth, it makes me nervous to be in here too long, its starting to feel a little bit like walking around in a graveyard."

Draco looked around and realized she was right. There was a desolate sort of feeling about the rooms, as though all of the spirit that had made them a part of the home had simply moved on to a better place. Draco knew when they were approaching the study, though Granger hadn't warned him. It was the only place in the whole house with any light, or any life for that matter. It seemed like a frightening place to be headed, despite the light, and Draco felt that maybe he didn't want to see what was in there.

Granger entered the door before he did and when came into the doorway she was already moving towards the chair in front of the desk.

Draco was, to say the least, stunned. This was not what he had expected. Though he couldn't exactly inform himself of what he _had_ expected. Harry Potter was sitting in an office chair, with a mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey resting next to his arm among a mountain of already drained ones. His eyes were fixed on the book in front of him. But he looked….just terrible. His eyes were large lonely green things in his face and his cheeks were sunken, though it was hard to tell how sunken as from this far, those shadows blended with the bruises forming under his eyes. His hair, still pitch black, looked oily and more wildly unkempt than usual. And Draco wasn't sure, but he thought that perhaps Harry Potter smelled as well. He didn't think he'd been avoiding going to the bathroom for the call of nature, but he most certainly had not been bathing. Draco hated to say it, but Granger was right.

He looked like he was dying.

Whatever he was doing, he wasn't an almighty war hero now. He was half raving. Suddenly, a thought of the special variety maneuvered its way into Draco's consciousness. If Draco Malfoy brought Harry Potter back from the brink of an insane death, there might just be a little bit of a decrease in the incredibly potent anti-Malfoy sentiment of the greater England wizarding world.

It was a plan that might just work.

And one that he was willing to try.

He moved from the doorway and sat down in the chair next to Granger's and watched her attempt to communicate with Harry, "Harry, I brought someone to visit, its Draco, don't you remember Draco?"

Harry's head didn't rise, but he surprised Draco with the incredulous tone that came from under his hair, "Of course I remember Malfoy, Hermione, I'm not an amnesiac."

Draco stifled a giggle. So the real Harry Potter was still in there after all. That would definitely keep things from getting boring. Granger simply sputtered, as if she really hadn't expected such a coherent response. He supposed in her despair and panic she'd reverted to thinking of Potter as a mentally handicapped child or a head injury patient. That was more than definitely not conducive to a healing sort of situation.

He nodded his head to himself and stood to leave, "Granger."

"Yes?"

"I'll do it."

Yes, it would be worth it to have his opponent back again. Not to mention the reputation.


	2. I carry with me all my things

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

Chapter 2 – **I carry with me all my things, as they are heavy.**

By: Lunatic With a Hero complex

Draco figured that even if he had a great memory, it would be best for both Potter and him if he chose to use a penseive to record the sessions. It would help him stay objective instead of letting his past with Potter color the memory. It was the first lesson in wizard psychology, stay objective. So he would keep a penseive record.

**Session 1-A shifting of pride**

_Draco walked into the house, pausing to remove his jacket. Summer was coming up fast, finals had just ended, but it was still a little chilly outside. Call it English weather. He laid the jacket on the counter, noting that most of the debris that had been here when he came to visit the first time was now gone. Apparently he'd shamed Granger into doing it. _

_He stepped through the living room, picking his way through, even though there were no longer liquor bottles on the carpet. As he approached the study, his steps became slower. He knew he was both anticipating and fearing this first session. He would not have the safety crutch of Granger's presence. _

_Potter had not moved it seemed since Draco's last visit. Only the stack of empty bottles at his side appeared to have gotten larger. And for a brief mad moment, he had a manic curiosity as to where all of the alcohol was coming from. Maybe there was a stash under the desk. _

_He moved to the seat he had occupied last time, and sat down, once more moving books out of the way. Potter at least looked to have moved on to a different book. At least he was showing signs that he could move, even if he didn't want to move. In another strange stab of curiosity, Draco wondered where the different books were coming from. _

_He seized the passing thought and wrangled it into the mainstream. He highly doubted that Potter was going to start this conversation by himself. So he would just have to start it, with whatever seemed interesting to the man at the time. At _this _time, his research was what appeared most interesting to him. _

_He picked up a wayward book, _Harry Potter: The Science of the Ultimate Survival, _and waved it in Potter's general direction, "Where exactly do all of these books come from Mr. Potter. Your library doesn't really seem that extensive."_

_He patiently waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, he swallowed his slight irritation, and muscled on, "Mr. Potter?"_

_Again, his head didn't come up, but the voice underneath was quite coherent, "You have known me for approximately a decade, and never once have you used an honorific with my name _Mr. _Malfoy, it might make me even more 'unstable' if you started doing it now."_

_Draco, to say the least, was put out. It did not best please him when his 'patients' walked around….or sat around, insulting what he believed was his most professional manner. The fact that it was Potter doing it, only made it sting more. _

_"Fine, Potter, where do these books come from, you always seem to have new ones."_

_"When you save the Wizarding World, no matter how you do it, businesses are willing to go just a little farther to get you the products you want. Even if you were a Gryffindor, and not a pureblood."_

_Draco was very sick of only performing the action of silently seething. It was getting old. _

_"Ahhh, I see." A pause. "What exactly are you studying?"_

_Nothing. _

_"Potter?"_

_Nothing. _

_More seething. _

_"Harry?"_

_Potter looked up and Draco immediately wished he hadn't. The face was thinner, the cheeks more gaunt, the bruises under his eyes more pronounced. The eyes themselves had taken on a more manic gleam than Draco had imagined. He unconsciously moved backwards in his chair, attempting to evade that gaze. It wasn't working, so he consciously made himself just Stop It. "What are you studying, Harry?"_

_It was his figuring that when Potter went like this, he wasn't his childhood rival, so he could comfortably call him by his first name. _

_Potter just looked slightly lost for a moment, "I have to get rid of the green, I just have to, can't live with it on. It'll only take a few more books, just a few pages, and then I can get it out, I'm sure of it." His head was descending again, "I'll find it, I have to."_

_Draco was confused. Ultimately, he did not like the feeling. "Harry?"_

_No response._

_"Potter?"_

_Nothing. _

_"Dark Lord Harry Potter?"_

_Absolute silence. _

_Draco leaned back in the chair, trying to formulate a further strategy. The only thing that came to him was the still unwashed odor of his patient. It was becoming slightly offensive. _

_"Honestly, Potter, if you can go to the loo, you should be able to bathe." _

_He cast a _Scourgify_ at him and decided that he'd done enough for one day. Slowly, hopefully, they would build to longer, more involved, interactive sections. But he'd made initial contact, and that would have to do for now. He rose from his seat and picked up his belongings, turning for the door. "Same time tomorrow Potter?"_

_Silence._

_Draco seethed…_

* * *

"So he just studies? What's wrong with that? I thought you'd be happy about it Hermione?" Ron was almost wholly focused on his dinner. He'd been out of the country for quite a while, dealing with that mad Russian woman, and he'd honestly missed English meals. He couldn't understand why Hermione seemed so upset and restless about Harry. So he'd gone on a random research project. So what? He was probably just using it to get over his breakup with Ginny. It was to be expected.

"He destroyed his house."

Well that wasn't to be expected, Harry was rarely destructive. In fact, the only real times he'd seen him try actively to destroy things were when he was in the throes of grief or severe protectiveness, "How so?"

He'd paused in his dinner, not really lost his focus, just left the fork on the plate.

"Everything that could be torn apart was, even the dishes we gave him when he bought the house. Ron, I…"

He finally looked up at her and saw that she was near tears. He dropped the fork and rose to go around the table and put his arms around her, "Love, there are always going to be things that happened to Harry that we just don't understand. Not because we don't love him enough or because we're less than he is, but because we weren't there for all of it." He leaned back and looked her in the eye, "He _died_, Hermione. We've been through some awful things together, but through that, he went alone."

She wiped at the tears that had managed to escape off of her cheeks and moved back from him minutely. "I know that, but it just makes me so bloody angry when I can't help him, that's why I…."

Ron grew suspicious, and his gentle demeanor sharpened slightly, "Why you what?"

"Honestly Ronald, its nothing bad, I just got a psychiatrist for him."

"Oh, well why didn't you just say that then?" His suspicions weren't completely soothed. Soothed even less by the guilty look that flitted across her features, "Well, you see, the psychiatrist was someone a little unorthodox for someone like Harry."

"Who is it?"

A murmur.

Hermione never murmured.

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy…"

Crickets.

"Who?!"

* * *

**Session 2: Resorting to Fisticuffs**

Draco found a strange sense of enjoyment in his second visit to Potter, but he really did not want to know why.

_He hadn't worn a jacket today, the heat was finally catching up with the season, and he was able to roam the world unfettered by the bindings of wind protection. He walked more quickly this time through the living room and into the dim and ominous light of the study. It was beautiful outside, but in here it was a bubble of timelessness. Seasons, day and night, and weather did not exist past this doorjamb. _

_Potter was, as usual, sitting near a mountain of deceased alcohol, and reading with a near religious fervor. Draco sat in his usual chair, moving _**Understanding Death Volume II: Moving Under Water**_ out of his way this time. Silence reigned. Hardly surprising, that, but still frustrating. With exams out of the way, and his mind left to its own devices, he had thought very hard about this next session and what he might do to snap Potter out of it. He'd come to no definite conclusion, but one was forming in his mind right now, probably fueled by his frustration and his feeling of just being a spectator in this mad situation. He was hardly going to accept becoming another Potter Watcher. _

_There was one thing he remembered that had always roused spirit in Harry Potter, never failing, not even in the final years before the end of the war. It may be cruel for someone who didn't seem that capable of defending himself, but luckily, Draco was less than concerned for the cruel factor of his plans, making him the perfect candidate for this job. _

_He put his case on the floor and stood. He watched Potter silently for one long moment, and then he put his plan into action. "So Potter, it seems to me that people really don't change do they. I had heard that you had slipped out of the public eye, had started living a quiet, peaceful life. But now I see that of course, you are just as attention seeking as you were when we were in Hogwarts, only your tactics seem to have become more drastic of course. Really, Potter, faking insanity just to get some sympathy. Honestly. You're probably not even really reading those books are you? You never took anything seriously, definitely not studying."_

_Potter's head was still facing the book, but his eyes had stopped their feverish race back and forth, and he was still, oh so still. Draco felt a frisson of excitement shiver up his spine. By Merlin, he'd missed this. He shoved a few books off of the corner of the desk and continued, "You never understood the impact of anything you did. Always rushing off to get into danger, never thinking about what everyone had to do to get you out of it again."_

_He kept disheveling things in the office. He turned back to Potter and got ready to loose his final strike. He grabbed the book Potter was reading, throwing it behind him to hit the wall, "And of course you never even consider all of the people killed trying to get you out of your stupid adventures." _

_Potter's head jerked up when he grabbed the book, burning like a funeral pyre, and ready to do some real damage to the thief, only to freeze solid when Draco's statement sank in. _

_The eyes, ridiculously green, widened to an unheard of size and shot around in their sockets, looking for a place to escape what was behind them. Potter's hands gripped the edge of his desk, the knuckles growing whiter with every moment. Draco watched with interest bordering on obscene. Oh, he'd definitely pushed the right button to get Harry Potter alive, and he just knew the resulting reaction was going to be fairly interesting. _

_Potter jerked, just once in his chair, like an aborted attempt at flying away. And then his face tilted towards Draco and Draco had just enough time to register the sheer incoherent grief and rage in those eyes before Potter's magic helped him along and shoved the desk from in front of him, right into Draco's solar plexus, propelling him across the room, to stumble into the wall. Miraculously, he kept his feet, but his breath was another matter altogether. He looked at Potter and was startled to see that despite his emaciated figure and tired face, he was just intimidating enough to give Draco pause before he continued. "Just like you Potter, can't say anything worth hearing, so you just resort to violence. It explains a lot."_

_Potter let out a hurt, and somewhat mad shout, and came at him, his magic helping him close the distance. Before he could think to move, Potter was on him. His head hit the wall and his vision brightened painfully. To keep himself from concussion, Draco pushed back against Potter, moving around so he wasn't backed against a wall. Unfortunately, the changing location didn't perturb Potter all that terribly and he followed, his mouth twisted in a permanent mindless snarl. He gripped the open collar of Draco's button up shirt and yanked him sideways, causing Draco to stumble. With his footing already lost, he wasn't prepared when he was pushed, and he fell to the ground. _

_This was exactly what he'd wanted; he just hadn't thought it would be so painful for him. He had seen maybe more yelling, and less fisticuffs. However, he was smart enough to realize he had to go ahead and reap what he had sowed. So he let Potter descend on him, snarling. He'd expected a barrage of punches to come at him, so he'd prepared to fend off the most damaging of them, but Potter only sunk one hard punch to his mouth before the violence degenerated into a wordless sobs and a periodic jerking of Draco's collar, lifting him and slamming him down, but not really causing any true harm._

_Finally, the jerking stopped, and the black head rested on Draco's chest. He felt himself tense slightly. This was definitely not something he'd planned on. To be deadly honest, he really hadn't thought much past pissing Potter off. Then a voice drifted up to him, Potter was speaking. And it was Potter, the man, Draco realized, not Harry, the patient, "When will it be enough, Malfoy. When is the point when I finally can just stop worrying about what happened that day. I thought, when it was all over, and I'd stopped the bastard, and the rest of the world could just go do whatever they wanted that I could do that too. But, I'm still paying. Every day, every moment, its all I see. That ridiculous green color over everything I do." Finally he looked up, and Draco could see the madness creeping back and he mourned it, "When will it go away?" _

_The head went back down, and when it tensed even further, Draco knew, without looking that he was back with Harry, the patient. When he'd rushed back over to the books, forsaking the desk against the wall and simply picking up the one Draco had thrown across the room and huddling on the floor against the wall, Draco brought his eyebrows together in confusion. There was something he was missing. Something he had not been told. Of course, everyone had seen the Dark Lord defeated. Potter had done it right there in the middle of the Great Hall. Despite the animosity he still felt towards Potter, he would admit, it was one of the most admirable things he'd ever witnessed. But even then there were things he hadn't understood about Potter's speech. He supposed that right now was the best time to find some things out. _

_He rose and left, shooting one last confused glare at the bowed head of oily hair._

_

* * *

_

"Granger." She jumped. Inside, he smirked. He'd come on her as she was in the library, earning himself a sense of beautiful retribution. He couldn't understand why in the world she was in the library to begin with, it being the middle of Summer holidays, but he'd known despite that, it was where he was most likely to find her.

"Draco? What are you doing here? Is it Harry? Did something happen to him?"

She had an infuriating talent for speaking at ridiculously high speeds, so he broke in when she stopped to breathe, "No, nothing is wrong. Well, something is most definitely wrong, but nothing new that you haven't already witnessed. She immediately calmed down, "Oh, well, then how can I help you?"

He settled more comfortably in the wooden chair and looked her straight in the eyes, his face going more deeply serious, "I have made some very small headway, I got him to react yesterday anyway, but it has come to my attention that perhaps there are some things about his history that I'm not aware of, some things that are predominate in his condition."

He knew right away that he'd definitely hit on something. Her face went shadowed and her hand, restlessly flitting on the page of her textbook stilled. He just cocked an eyebrow at her, questioning with his eyes.

She turned slowly, as if injured, to face him, "There is something about the final battle. But no one really knows about it, except for Harry, Ron, and me. The only other people that knew about it are dead." Her eyes hardened on him, "And there is a reason no one knows Malfoy, it is still a very difficult thing to talk about. Harry doesn't want anyone to know."

Draco was most definitely interested. If it was that good, he just had to know. And it would help Potter, of course.

"I'm not going to go blabbing it to everyone I meet, Granger, but he's been babbling at me and I don't understand most of it. If you want me to help, I need to know all I can about what might be causing this. Unless, of course, you would rather I not help him."

He made to get up and knew the moment she changed her mind, "Wait! I just…well it's difficult to talk about, like I said…just sit down, I'll tell you."

He smiled to himself and changed his expression to one of somber intent as he turned back to her, seating himself back in the chair, waiting politely.

Granger lifted her wand and cast a bubble of silence around them, blocking out the rest of the world. She stared at him for a moment before starting, as if considering something, and he just raised an eyebrow at her once more.

"You remember of course, the day that Voldemort fell, yes?"

He just looked at her.

"So of course you remember how the final battle started, what Voldemort came out of the Forbidden Forest with?"

He was getting impatient, "Yes, Granger."

"Everyone has always assumed that Harry dodged Voldemort's _Adava_, but that, unfortunately is not the truth."

She had paused, and Draco felt a moment of fear, irrational fear, that he really didn't want to know what she was going to tell him. But he held it in.

"We watched Snape die, you know? Voldemort killed him in the shrieking shack because he didn't think anyone would know that the house wasn't actually haunted. Unfortunately, we'd known about it since third year, when there was an unfortunate incident with a rat and a dog. So when Harry saw Voldemort there through his scar, we knew exactly where he was."

Draco desperately wanted to ask about that 'incident', but he knew to keep his mouth shut.

"We watched him die, but not before he gave something to Harry, a set of memories. We took them and headed back to the castle, where Ron and I went into the Great Hall. Harry went to the headmaster's office and used his pensieve. I'm not exactly sure of everything he saw, he told us 'that a dead man's darkest secrets were best left in the dark' when we asked, and we've always felt it was best to accept that. However, what he did tell us was that ultimately Dumbledore's plans for Harry were not to destroy Voldemort in a plain duel at all, but something completely different."

She paused, and Draco, who was finding himself deeply interested for some reason, jerked back to himself. She seemed to be fighting back a batch of tears, which just unsettled him more. He wished he could find it in him to help soothe her, but he really had no idea what he would say to that purpose. But she gathered herself all on her own, and continued speaking, with only a small hitch in her speech.

"Because of the way that Voldemort's original Killing Curse bounced off of Harry, he'd made Harry's scar a horcrux," thinking of the fact that Draco may not know what a horcrux was, she started a side note, "A horcrux is an object that contains a piece of a person's soul put there when the person does something so horrible that it tears a piece of it out. Voldemort had seven. And the last two of those seven were Nagini, the Dark Lord's snake, and Harry."

"Dumbledore never meant for Harry to survive the war. The only way to win was to let Voldemort kill him, and that meant that he was not allowed to fight back. For this world to be safe, Dumbledore knew, Harry had to die willingly for it."

Draco felt the blood run from his face and he felt a little dizzy. He'd always felt that maybe the war had ended slightly anticlimactically. He wasn't complaining, most definitely not, but he'd thought there might be a bit of a longer battle, or more epic of an ending. Of course, the battle that had existed had been a plenty large enough challenge, but there was very little flashy spell work happening. It seemed now though, that all of the epic-ness had been there, but largely internalized and witnessed by only the enemy.

When he spoke, it came out as something he didn't recognize, almost a whisper, "He had to do it willingly?"

Hermione nodded, and there were definitely tears in her eyes now, "The only way that he could save us all was by letting Voldemort destroy his own horcrux. He had to love the world enough to leave it." She paused, then continued hesitantly, "He didn't even tell us when he went to do it, he just left the castle, apparently the last person that saw him before he went to the forest was Neville, he said that Harry just told him that if he didn't come back that Neville had to kill the snake.

"Neville said he never forgot that Harry gave _him_ that job, and how honored he'd felt."

Harry told us later that when he went in to the forest, that first step was the hardest he'd ever taken, and after that, everything else was like a walk through fog. And when he met Voldemort, in a clearing in the forest, he said he felt so awfully calm, so ridiculously docile. And then after, a brief tantrum, Voldemort sent one final Killing Curse at him."

The tears were streaming down her face now, and Draco couldn't really find it in himself to speak at all. When she spoke again, she only made it half way through the sentence before she had to pause to wipe her eyes.

"He never told Ron, but one night when we were out drinking, he told me, slurringly, that he'd never felt so damn peaceful or relieved as he had when he saw that green light coming at him."

She wiped her face again and then she chuckled lightly.

"Somehow, the magic that connected Harry to Voldemort through his scar once more kept the spell from doing exactly what it was supposed to, and instead of killing him, or repeating and killing Voldemort, it destroyed the Horcrux in Harry. He could have chosen to die right there, he'd been given the option, but he felt responsible for making sure that Voldemort really got destroyed. So when he came back, he played dead."

Here she paused and looked at him with a sudden curiosity, "You know, I'm kind of surprised that you've never known this part, it was you're mother that lied to Voldemort when he asked if Harry was really dead. Harry told me that all she wanted was to know if you had lived. He said that that was the most respectable reason he'd ever heard for switching sides."

Draco was slightly thunderstruck. Not only had he heard both a distinctly disturbing story, but his mother had known the truth of it for all of this time, and she hadn't said a thing, "No, she never mentioned it, though I always did wonder why she and my father weren't persecuted more than they were after the war."

She nodded along, and then surprised him by chuckling, "The one thing Harry always respected above anything else was love, and you're mother proved she valued the love of her family above everything else. You know it was an interesting side effect of the whole thing, one not even Dumbledore anticipated, that because Harry's death was willing, the curse had the same effect that the one that killed his mother had."

Draco looked at her in slight confusion.

"Lily Potter's love for Harry in the face of death overpowered the will behind Voldemorts anger, and until the ritual in his fourth year, he couldn't even physically touch Harry. After Harry took the killing curse in the forest, Voldemort wasn't able to hurt anyone that he attacked. None of the hexes stuck, no matter how much force he put behind them."

She snorted bitterly, "The love of one 17 year old boy saved the entire wizarding world, its ridiculous."

Draco nodded silently. He was truly having trouble speaking. He'd thought perhaps, Potter had seen a bad bit of carnage or had a particularly bad spat with someone and his mind had just been unable to handle it. It never crossed his mind to suppose something like this. He died. Dead. On purpose. For love of a wizarding world that had been little but fickle about him. For love of everyone. Even Draco.

He sat for a moment, completely still, and Granger just watched him, like she wanted to witness it when he finally exploded or something. He nodded at nothing in particular and stood, shakily, to his feet. He braced his hand on the table, feeling like a newborn child, and spoke, his voice unsupported, "I will take all of this into consideration before our next session…thank you for your honesty." He turned to walk out of the library, and was stopped by her hand on his arm, he looked down it into the stern face of Hermione Granger, the war hero, and waited, "If you use this information to hurt him, Draco, I will know exactly where it came from and I will make sure that you can't tell _anyone_ anything again."

He was recovering his wits, slowly, but recovering, he just raised his brows at her, "Loud and clear."

* * *

**Session 3: In which a fit of understanding becomes a garden party**

_Draco stood in the kitchen, he'd been there for about 15 minutes, but he couldn't seem to get through the door into the living room. His palms were slightly sweaty. After what he'd heard from Granger, he didn't know how he'd feel when he looked at Pot..Harry. _

_That was another thing, he felt this ridiculous and irritating budding of respect for Harry Potter. Whatever ire he was harboring for the man, seemed to be draining out through this worrisome hole in his arguments against the Man-Who-Lived. _

_Finally he forced his left leg to take the first step and moved for the door to the living room. He found it easier to move after that first step and soon he was at the door of the study. He came around the corner of the door frame, mouth opened, to say what he didn't know, and froze. For one clear crystallized moment, he thought perhaps he was letting the truth about the end of the war get to him and imagining things, so he blinked, hard. However, when he opened his eyes again, the scene was still the same and in fact getting worse as he sat there. _

_The desk was still in its exiled place against the far wall, and the things that Draco had moved or thrown around were still in their landing zones. However, Harry was not where he'd last left him. Harry bloody Potter was in a completely different place altogether. He was sitting on the floor still, that was true, but he'd moved to the wall where his desk used to be, leaning against the rolling chair, which was in turn leaning against a book shelf. _

_All of that was just fine. _

_What really worried Draco, was the steak knife in Harry's hand. A moment later, Draco's eyes registered the lines that were carved on his skin. Less like lines and more like valleys, jagged dark things that were shapeless and aimless. The blood that came out of them ran steadily a painful looking red in all of these rich browns and dark colors._

_His paralysis broke and he nearly ran over to the man, kneeling in front of him. The knife was moving steadily towards his leg again, yearning for another taste of Gryffindor blood, and Draco gently gripped the hand controlling it, moving the knife away, unable to get it out, but keeping it at bay, this was definitely Harry, the patient. _

_"Harry, what are you doing?" He asked it quietly, as though he were afraid of scaring off a wild animal. _

_The dark head came back up and Draco bit back a telling gasp at the pale face with blood spattered on it. _

_"I think I've figured it out. I couldn't get rid of it because it was _in_ me. Not just affecting me, but in my blood. All I have to do is get it out, and it'll be fine, I can be normal again." _

_He tried to bring the knife down again, but Draco continued to hold him off. Harry's eyebrows furrowed, "Give me the knife Malfoy, you don't understand, but that's alright, I can't expect you to, just give it to me." He was struggling more now, but he had been eating little to nothing for weeks with little but his magic to sustain him, and Draco was no doubt the physically stronger. And Harry's magic was not about to help him kill himself. _

_Finally, Draco wrestled the knife free and vanished it with his wand. Harry let out a primal scream and made another one of those abortive jerks as if a part of himself had been vanished with it. Draco looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time since he'd visited Hermione and experienced that interesting story hour. More than just madness, he saw a kind of debilitating desperation. A raw need for something, anything to prove to himself he was alright, he was normal, he was alive. _

_As he sat there, holding the writhing limbs of the Savior of the Wizarding World, a sketchy outline of an idea began to form in his head. A strange inkling as to the ultimate cause of this whole mess. It would take more mental devotion than he had right now to completely work it out, but it was definitely close. He turned his attention back to Harry and watched him for a moment longer before he surprised himself and leaned forward to hug him. _

_Harry stilled instantly, unused to such full body contact with another human being after long absence. Finally, the stillness began to recede and sobbing broke out against his shoulder. Tentatively, Draco put a hand on Harry's back and rubbed small circles. _

_He wasn't exactly sure how long he sat there, hugging his arch nemesis as he cried his eyes out on his shoulder. All he knew was that at one point he looked down and the sobbing had stopped and wonders above and wonders never cease, Harry Potter was sleeping. _

_Draco blinked in astonishment. _

_Well…if his charge wasn't bleeding all over the damn carpet, he would definitely call that progress._

_

* * *

_

Potter's body was light, way too light for a grown man. But he guessed if he didn't eat for weeks then his body fat index would go down as well. He'd run the water relatively hot, sure that the lack of meat on Potter would make him more susceptible to chills. As he lowered the man into the tub, he felt a burning blush rush up his neck.

He had not thought that he would ever have the chance in his life to look upon a naked and emaciated Harry Potter while preparing to bathe him. Miraculously, Potter was still asleep. Draco supposed it made a lot of sense. The only thing that Potter had done less of in the past few weeks than eating was sleeping. He could probably set off a bomb and the man wouldn't turn an eyelid.

He scrubbed him gently, taking care to clean him, but not rub him to harshly. When it came to cleaning his private parts, Draco felt the blush spread a little hotter, but reined it in. He shoved whatever inappropriate thoughts he was having into the back of his bedside manner and finished bathing him. With the help of a levitation and warming charm he maneuvered Harry into his pajamas and tucked him into the white and black bed in the master bedroom.

He sat down in the arm chair by the fireplace and pulled out his earlier thoughts. He'd begun to see something that could turn into a full blown explanation for this madness.

It had been a sudden recollection of some of Harry's words versus a sentence of Hermione's.

She'd said, "…he told me, slurringly, that he'd never felt so damn peaceful or relieved as he had when he saw that green light coming at him."

And during the last session, Harry had mumbled something about making the green go away.

It could be of course coincidence, but in Draco's experience, it was hardly ever the case.

It could be a fairly safe bet to say that it wasn't just the color green that was bothering Harry so. It would more than likely be the connotations hidden behind the color. Green was the lively and poisonous color of the Killing Curse.

Draco had the distinct feeling that he'd walked into something that was a little out of his league, Harry Potter was under the lascivious courtship of Death.


	3. The Pressure Now of A Fog More Weighted

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

Chapter 3

**The Pressure now of a Fog more weighted**

Harry's mind was dreadfully clear. Horribly and terribly coherent. He knew why of course, he'd slept. He was not relieved. What he couldn't exactly figure out, was where he was and how he had gotten there. He was comfortable, and warm. It was one of his 'there' moments. Harry had known he was going mad. He'd known, and full and heartily approved. As his world drifted in strange jagged pieces around him, he'd watched himself go down in flames with a smug sense of satisfaction. Take that, wizarding world, what are you going to do with your messiah now?

Shifting his arm on what he now realized were blankets, on what he was beginning to understand was a bed, he caught sight of his smooth unmarked forearm. And suddenly he knew exactly where he was and what exactly had happened to bring him here. Suddenly, the madness was not so much of a friend. He'd viewed it a temporary helpmate, something to get him away from the descending spiral of green he'd fallen into, but he'd almost killed himself. That was most definitely not his intention. Despite all of this ridiculous despair he was carrying around, he very much enjoyed living, and it had been his ultimate plan to find a way to get rid of all of this depression and slowly climb back out of his insanity. 

That was not going to happen.

Remembering who had been present for his impromptu suicide attempt, he shifted to a sitting position, looking around the room for his 'therapist.' Malfoy was asleep in the humongous wing-backed chair that Harry kept in front of the fireplace. He'd shifted it to face the bed as the fireplace was understandably dank and empty, and was almost curled up in it; head snuggled into the back corner of the faded upholstery.

Harry had very little memory or understanding of how it was that Malfoy of all people came to be the caretaker of his sanity. He only understood that for some reason, he no longer minded. It was as if he'd gone through the arduous process of moving past their hostility, and he'd simply not been present for it. He felt, to say the least, cheated of a qualified distraction. He hoisted himself up and sat against his pillows. He looked around for his wand, knowing it must be close. For the first time, truly, he could say he was actually hungry. When he spotted his wand in Malfoy's pocket, probably kept there to keep him from further hurting himself, he quietly whispered an _accio_ and it soared into his hands. It was some of the only wandless magic he had ever mastered, that and _lumos_.

When it was cradled back in his hands, he smiled and whispered again, "Kreacher."

The little elf, perhaps knowing from the sound of the summons that silence was especially desired, appeared with little more than the _whumph_ of misplaced air and bowed in Harry's direction. Harry nodded his head and gestured Kreacher closer.

Since the war, Kreacher had improved remarkably in both appearance and people skills. Harry had set him free completely by presenting him with a very small, but nonetheless respectable set of clothing. Dobby's death had changed a thing in him, and all he really wanted for Kreacher was for him to do what he wanted, and to be happy doing it. Surprisingly, what had made Kreacher happy was to stay with Harry, and help him around the house. For the most part, when he was still eating, he'd cooked his own food, but Kreacher had helped him look out for the little things that Harry sometimes didn't have time for. 

"Would you please bring me something to eat, Kreacher, nothing big, broth and bread I think. And something for Mr. Malfoy as well, if you don't mind."

Kreacher nodded seeming thrilled that Harry was finally asking something, anything of him again. Harry had told him to stay away from the house when he started destroying things, because he hadn't wanted to accidentally injure or insult him. 

"Of course, Mr. Harry Potter, Kreacher will bring it right up." Then he was gone again, with the sucking noise of air reclaiming its home. He returned his glance to the chair that Malfoy was sleeping in, and returned his thoughts to what was happening in his head. The green was still there. Even in this short time he'd been awake, it was starting to bother him again. 

What bothered him the most was that, this coherence, this control, he knew it would be leaving him soon, and he would fall back into his desk and this time, he may not make it out of his pajamas first. It scared him. He had no control over when he stayed lucid or not. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts when Kreacher returned, he had to hold himself back from letting out a surprised guffaw. It seemed that despite the fact that he understood Harry's stomach couldn't take much, he'd felt the need to let out some pent up feeding, and brought a veritable feast for Draco. There was a monstrous bowl of broth for Harry and half a loaf of bread, and then there was a plate of chicken, a salad, a bowl of pasta, a bowl of soup, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice as well as a pot of tea for Draco. 

He called the table in the corner of the room to sit between Draco and himself and let Kreacher set the food on it. Kreacher nodded at Harry and smiling encouragingly once more winked out of existence. 

After the elf was gone, Harry moved the covers from his legs and waved his wand distractedly at the sconces on his walls, lighting the room more satisfactorily. He pulled the second chair from the other side of his bed to be on the other side of the table, and gingerly sat himself in it. Once he felt settled, he reached along one side of the table and shook the arm that Malfoy had left resting on the side of the chair. 

Instead of coming around gently, as Harry had intended him too, Malfoy jerked awake, his arm automatically yanking itself away from Harry's grip. Harry slowly moved his arm back into his own space, like one around a frightened animal. 

He calmly watched as Malfoy realized where he was and gathered himself. When he finally turned to look at Harry, he just remained quiet, letting the psychologist determine how to start the conversation himself. 

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, as if determining who he was talking to, and then spoke, "I see that you are feeling much better, Potter."

Harry was almost disturbed to note the near complete lack of malice behind the nickname, "Yes, thank you, the sleep did me good."

He expected a few cutting remarks as to the reason he was where he was, clinical Malfoy might be, but some temptations were too great for the most professional of men. What he didn't expect was the cautious, almost afraid look that he was getting from the man. Like if he wasn't careful, he'd break something. 

Harry did not like it. 

For a moment, they just sat there, considering each other, Harry's unease growing, and the discomfort on Malfoy's face steadily hardening into a deep and painful displeasure.

Finally, that displeasure broke itself open into resignation, and Malfoy spoke again, "Am I correct in supposing that I am speaking to you and not your unfortunate illness?"

Harry smiled, understanding that Malfoy was just wary of his mood changes, "Yes, for the moment, I am in possession of my faculties, though of course I can't tell you how long it's going to last. I am sorry that you got dragged into this Malfoy, I can completely understand if you would like to beg off. I suspect this can't be a very good summer activity for you."

Malfoy seemed to be agitated, "Potter, do you think for one moment I would have agreed to do this if I didn't want to. What makes you think that Granger could force me to do anything?" 

Harry grinned, that was definitely what he was used to hearing, "My apologies, of course not."

Miraculously, Malfoy just seemed more irritated, and then it melted slightly back into a kind of nervousness, "Listen, Po-Harry, I need to make sure you know something."

Harry was a little taken aback by the name, but he just nodded, "Alright."

"You were babbling a lot in our last session about some things that I wasn't quite familiar with, so I went to Granger, to ask her a few cursory questions."

He looked at Harry to gauge his reaction, and Harry wasn't able to give him anything but polite interest. He wasn't exactly sure where this was going. 

"When I told her that I thought that some of the things I didn't know might be affecting my ability to help you, she…well…"

Harry couldn't understand what was so difficult for Malfoy to say, there weren't that many sordid things in his past that he could think of, for most of his life, when he wasn't fighting Dark Lords, he'd been pretty White Bread in his approach to the darker side of living, "Yeah?"

Malfoy finally stopped stuttering and looked him in the eye, "She told me the truth about the end of the war, Potter."

Harry's polite smile froze. His entire brain froze. 

The end. Of the War. The real one. 

He'd told them not to tell anyone. 

And Mafoy knew, of all people, Malfoy.

He finally focused back in on the man, who seemed to be sitting up in the arm chair, as though worried Harry was going to fall out of his.

He tried to still his thumping heart, and make his muscles uncurl, but he was having such trouble, he bit out through almost clenched teeth, "How much did she tell you?"

Malfoy was leaning forward even further; his brow furrowed harder, "All of it, Po-Harry, everything, right down to the last sacrificial step."

Harry felt his lungs seize slightly in his chest, and found himself trying to speak around a mountain. He felt a hand on his arm and heard faintly, "Potter?"

He looked up and finally recognized the emotion that had been lurking in the back of Malfoy's eyes, pity.

His mind went green.

* * *

Draco saw when Potter left. The green in the eyes he was staring at darkened and hollowed, and the infuriatingly relaxed features that he'd been marveling at during this strange conversation tensed into razor blades. 

He hesitated briefly, and Harry went mad. He made another one of those odd abortive jerks, only this time it followed through into standing and Harry _screamed_ at him, as though he hated that he was being looked at. 

He turned over the heavily laden table that Draco was only just truly noticing and screamed again, his hands clawing and pulling at his head. Draco broke out of his stupor and stood to restrain him. If he could drag him back down before he fell all the way into his madness again, they might be able to avoid having to go through the entire cycle.

He stood and gripped Harry by the shoulders and then moved his hands to the man's head. He turned the face to meet his and locked eyes. 

The sheer madness there was…most devouring. It was like there was a green pit there, and if he just moved a little to the left he'd fall in there and never make his way out.

"Po-Harry, Harry. I know you can hear me, come on. What kind of hero are you, can't even make it through one measly conversation without losing your marbles. Just focus on me. Focus on me. Be angry if you want, but focus on me. I think I know what's happening to you, but I can't be sure unless you come back. So just focus on me."

The struggles that Harry had been making against his hold were lessening, and animalistic pained whimpers and grunts were all the resistance he seemed to be able to maintaining. 

Draco reaffirmed his grip on the sides of Harry's head, "Focus, think."

The green in those eyes was lightening again, filling in with consciousness and Draco almost screamed in relief.

The dark head of hair sagged in his hands and he let it. Potter collapsed to the floor, gasping breaths forcing their way out of his lungs, and Draco heard the faint sound of sobbing. 

He was preparing to go down to the man and bring him up, when he heard the faint sound of speaking, "I hate it, Malfoy. I never know when I'm going to suddenly have no control over what I do or what I say, or what I want. Every time I start to feel a little safe, or comfortable, I see a flash of green out of the corner of my eye and something inside of me just…fails, and lets go."

Draco really didn't have an immediate response to that kind of a confession ready, so he just sort of sagged to the floor next to Potter and leaned his back against the chair, putting a weary hand over his eyes, "I know, Harry. And I know that it can't be pleasant to think that something you never wanted anyone else to know is out, especially someone that used to be one of your biggest enemies. But I think I may have an idea as to what's happening to you. If we're lucky, its physical and it won't be that hard to fix. If we're unlucky, it's also mental, and it'll take a little bit longer, but I think I'll be able to help. I'll just have to do a little research; I think it has to do with the number of times you've been 'killed'."

He heard a faint chuckle and pulled the hand down. He was startled to see the tear streaked face of Harry Potter gently laughing at him from a crouched position on the other side of the turned over table, "What?"

"Ma..Draco, I've been fighting a Dark Lord since I was 11, I've been killed by him once, and I've been at the mercy of Death Eaters, I long ago stopped thinking of you as the epitome of evil. And I've spent the last few weeks of my existence doing nothing but breathing and researching the killing curse, if you want to ask me some questions, I'm pretty sure that will move you along just a little faster."

Draco blinked in Harry's general direction and shook his head, "Po-Harry, we really must work on these mood shifts of yours, they're beginning to scare me."

* * *

Harry felt himself slowly returning and he was fully aware thank you very much, that his method of coping, namely a brand of extreme coherency, was rather abrupt if you weren't used to it. And the only person he could think that would be used to it would be himself. Chuckling at the stressed out look on Malfoy's face, Harry set about getting up and reordering the food he'd spilled. Luckily, the soups and such had a house elf charm on them that prevented spillage and the pasta had been covered. The bread and chicken weren't so fortunate, so Harry simply banished them to the far reaches of his kitchen bin. When everything was in place again, he sat down in the chair and waited patiently as Malfoy did the same. 

When they were both situated, Harry spoke, eyeing his soup with his stomach, "I know you want to ask some questions about the curse, and you can explain your theories as to why I'm like this, but let's do it while we eat, yes? For the first time in a while I'm actually hungry, so I don't want to miss it."

Malfoy was still quiet, but he nodded nonetheless.

Harry smiled. Again, he was experiencing that intoxicating burst of concentrated coherency, and he just felt so calm and pleased, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the bloody hell he was so pleased about, "Great, well, just ask what you want to know, about the curse, or my symptoms." He smiled again. He couldn't understand why he did it, but he did. 

* * *

Draco had come to the conclusion that he couldn't decide whether he disliked Sane Potter, or Insane Harry more. Sure, Insane Harry was rambling, and destructive and a bad host at best, but Sane Potter was always so calm and rational, and so bloody fucking happy. 

Ultimately, he decided to just dislike them both equally. 

He watched Potter happily begin devouring his soup and moved his mind on to thinking about what questions to ask concerning the curse. Potter had pretty much given him free reign over the field of interrogation, but there were so many different factors he was considering, that he felt it was best to just begin by explaining the details of what he thought was the problem. 

"No one is exactly sure how the _Avada Kedavra_ kills. All that is positive is that with the very notable exception of you, it is 100 fatal. There is no time of resuscitation; there is no time in which the proper healing can be administered. It kills, absolutely, and instantly. However, you are indeed an exception. You've been privy to its 'charms' twice in one lifetime. And you have survived both of those instances. It is my belief that even with your seeming resistance, being exposed to something with only the purpose of destruction of human life has had rather…. results on your body, and possibly your mind."

He paused to study Potter's reaction and almost laughed when he saw that Potter had paused, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Finally the spoon resumed its course and Potter nodded, "From what I've read that is a very distinct possibility." He set down the spoon after consuming its contents and rested his chin on his hand, obviously going over the vast amounts of information he must have taken in with all of the books he'd been raping. 

"The _Avada Kedavra_ curse wasn't always a killing curse you know. It started out, all the way back in the middle ages, as a spell used by the healers to get rid of disease. No one is exactly sure where its origins lie, but they have narrowed it down to the Arabic 'abra kedabra', which means 'may the things be destroyed' and the Aramaic 'abhadda kedhabhra' which in turn means 'disappear with these words.' It is believed that the use of the spell for healing purposes was discontinued when better methods were discovered, because when the spell drove the disease from the body, it also ripped away a good chunk of that person's life force or magic."

Potter took another spoonful of the soup and then continued thoughtfully, "It is believed that the curse didn't take on its deadlier meanings until the last 20 years of the 17th century. Some of the less than helpful wizards of the time molded and warped the spell until its primary function was the removal of life force, though it did still heal. If you'll notice, every person found killed by it, not only has no mark of death, but they also are missing any illness they might have already been suffering from. Once they'd shifted the balance of the spell, they were able to use it on their enemies and no one would know they were murdered, because even if _priori incantatem_ was used, all they would see would be the use of a severe healing spell."

He chuckled bitterly, "If you think about it, it really was terribly clever of the bastards. Unfortunately, now it's only recognized as the killing curse, and all of the once useful healing properties have been forgotten." He turned back to the soup, still speaking, "Another interesting factoid, when the curse was used on me, my magic not only rejected the killing aspect, but the healing one as well. I've had glasses all my life and after the Battle of Hogwarts, I was still covered in ruddy scratches and bruises."

Draco was a little stunned at the fount of information he'd received. If that was just the response to one question, he'd hate to think what would come up if he asked everything he could think of. 

But once he thought about it, the explanation _was_ helpful. The ripping of the life force during the healing could explain the melding of the physical and the mental in Potter's illness.

Draco finally began to pick up his fork to eat the food that had been salvaged, and an anomaly in the story made itself known. He put a bite of the pasta in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully while he formed his question, "If this information is correct, then why is it that you didn't experience these adverse effects after the original exposure?"

Potter's hand stilled, a minute pause, but noticeable, "In the first decade of my life, I was unfortunate enough to have a few medical problems; the general unpleasantness they caused masked the ill effects I would have been suffering."

Draco cocked his head curiously, and brought another bite to his mouth, when he'd swallowed, he voiced his confusion, "We can assume from your current example that the symptoms of the curse could be narrowed down to complete loss of appetite, sleep deprivation, irritability, and psychologically speaking an extreme amount of fear and paranoia. What illnesses would mask these?"

When the dark head of hair refused to raise itself and kept itself stoically focused on the soup bowl, Draco realized he was moving into generally unsafe territory, but he still received a response, "Starvation eventually results in a lack of appetite, nightmares mask sleep deprivation, fear devours irritability and danger results in paranoia."

Oh, he was most definitely interested now. The voice had been flat and toneless, the head still, the spoon in the bowl. There was another tidbit of his oh so interesting life that Potter had not told him of, and he wanted to know about it, now…for purely scientific reasons of course. 

"What caused you to be victim to starvation and danger, Potter? What made you afraid?"

"A rather unfortunate gene pool."

"What?"

"I fail to see how this can be at all your business Malfoy?"

"I am only trying to help you heal Potter."

"Then LEAVE THE PAST THE BLOODY FUCK ALONE!"

The shout had pushed Draco unconsciously back in his chair as the head finally came up and the jungle gaze pinned him across the table.

He supposed he'd deserved that.

Potter, infuriatingly enough, was grinning, and Draco could only find it in himself to be irritated at his own idiocy. He'd sunk down to the level of Malfoy/Potter, and it was stupid. He hated though that Potter was smirking, as though he'd known Draco couldn't stay professional forever. 

He wanted that smirk gone….really gone. 

"What, Potter? Was the pampered touch just not gentle enough for you, did they not give you absolutely everything you wanted? Well isn't that just a tough little life."

Well…the smirk was gone. But Potter's eyes were hollowing out again and Draco was absolutely positive that he'd really fucked up this time. Potter didn't have an abortive jerk this time; he just stared past Draco's right shoulder into a space unknown. Suddenly, the eyes were jerking from side to side, afraid of something.

Before Draco could decide what to do, Potter left his chair and ran for the door, and he had a feeling the study was going to regain its primary inhabitant. He sighed, he knew it was his fault, but he was tired. They'd made a good bit of progress, which was the best he could hope for. 

He moved downstairs, getting ready to go home. 

He cast one more look back towards the study; Potter hadn't even made it from his pajamas.


	4. Interlude: May the Child be Born of

Were The Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

By: Lunatic with a Hero Complex

Interlude: **So May the Child Be Born of But Not Born Like**

The floo flared up and Draco, knowing only approximately 3 people in the world with access to his floo, put his book down in a preparatory motion, settling himself for what he was sure was going to be a lecture.

Sure enough, his father's head appeared a moment later, wearing his 'I am gracefully stern, prepare for my wrath, which will be delivered in a noble, compelling, lofty, and completely ridiculous speech' look.

"Father."

"Draco."

"To what do I owe this honor?"

"Sarcasm is not necessary, Draco, I only wish to speak to you. May I come through?"

"Yes, of course."

The floo flared even brighter and a body appeared on his rug. Draco stood and smiled at his father. A thin smile, because he knew his father wasn't just here for a visit, but a smile nonetheless because he was his father after all. Even the Malfoy's had innate love for their family members. However, Draco did not have an innate love for the preaching and the pimping of the Malfoy family that was about to occur.

His apartment wasn't very large, it being only what was provided by the housing clause that the university included in his scholarship packaging. One bedroom, a small kitchen, an almost nonexistent bathroom, and a respectable, but low ceiling-ed living room; all of this only seeming smaller in Lucius's presence. His father had a way of making all things in a room smaller than himself.

"Would you like some tea, Father?"

"Yes, Draco, thank you."

Draco moved to the kitchen, which was still visible to the living room through a small rectangular bar area. His father took a begrudging, albeit graceful seat at one of the barstools while Draco moved his wand in the motions that made the correct spells for tea production. He turned to his father, "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Your mother is concerned that you have carried on this act of defiance too long. She believes that you have achieved your point, and she wants you to come home now. I must say that I quite agree with her."

Draco felt the beginnings of a tension headache building in between his temples. He'd had this conversation, and many similar ones, with his father before. His parents seemed fatally determined not to acknowledge the new, post-war order.

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy no longer lived in the lap of luxury. Of course, they still had their manner. The Malfoy Manner had been around for time immemorial, and there had been many wars in that time, with Malfoy's on both the winning and losing sides. In a spark of genius typical to the Malfoy heritage, one of their earliest ancestors had woven the manner with enchantments that made it absolutely untouchable by anyone not approved by or a part of the Malfoy line. This meant that, while the Ministry had certainly had a grand old time pillaging their coffers, they had been forced to leave his parents' home untouched. In a petulant act of retaliation, the Ministry had instead taken after their business holdings. Dissolving many of the shares of stock the Malfoy family had in a good deal of popular Diagon Alley shops.

It was only by grace of the fact that Lucius Malfoy was so very much a devious person that they hadn't discovered all of the investments in the Knockturn Alley establishments. It was these profits that his parents were living off of.

Lucius and Narcissa were absolutely convinced that Draco's enrollment in University was simply a juvenile attempt at asserting his independence. They'd believed that for 2 years now. Draco was halfway towards graduating and moving on to graduate school. He was beginning to doubt if his parents would even realize he was serious when they were attending his graduation.

"Father, it is not an act. I am working towards a career. A career, I might add, that will earn much needed money. We are not exactly able to simply live comfortably on interest any longer; I will need a livelihood you know."

Draco despaired because the tilt that his father's head was taking was the tilt it got when he was about to completely disregard whatever statement, truth or lie, he'd just heard. He was not disappointed.

"Nonsense Draco, there is absolutely no reason for you to have to work at anything. It's not the Malfoy way."

Draco had to keep himself from snickering as his father flicked his long hair behind his shoulder in a gesture of annoyance, then he sobered as he set to the heinous task of explaining financial prudence to his father…again.

"Father, there is plenty of money for mother and yourself to live off of, if you are careful, however," Draco heaved the sigh of the long suffering, "there is simply no way that we can all three live off of the meager returns from your Knockturn Alley associates. Malfoy's may not have worked before or during The War, but this is a new world, a working man's world, Father. I am adapting to become a Working Man."

He stopped himself from slamming the cup of tea onto the counter at the last moment, caught up in his theorems on post war economic values. His father, despite his complete refusal to accept and understand anything said concerning their financial situation, could tell that Draco was drifting into dangerous territory and attempted to momentarily lighten up the topic of conversation.

"What have you been doing with yourself besides this foolish university nonsense?"

Draco's mind went from cooling to cold in 1.4 seconds. His father would not be pleased to learn that Draco was playing Hero Psycho Therapy with Harry Potter. Ever since the end of the war, Lucius had held a barely concealed hatred with a capital H towards the Boy Wonder. Draco suspected it had something to do with Harry's ability to get his family out of a situation that he had not been able to. Draco didn't care. He would not lie about what he was doing, his father, though willfully blind concerning economics was still woefully connected in the wizard world, he would find out.

"I've been helping a sick friend."

"Oh, do we know him?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he's very…connected."

"Well, who is it?"

Draco squared his shoulders, doing it casually of course, and let it fly, "Harry Potter." He quickly took a drink of his tea.

His father tersely put down his cup. Draco kept a tight hold on his.

"What would possess you to associate with Harry Potter? I was not aware of the fact that you are friends, or even on speaking terms."

Draco's grip tightened marginally on the teacup's handle and he let himself proceed with ultimate caution, "Granger came to me because Potter has been acting strangely lately, and, knowing my chosen course of study, and our past relations, she felt that I was the best candidate to assist him."

He wasn't going to tell his father all of Potter's secrets and mental ailments, it was information the man needed, and Draco was far too old to be selling out school rivals to The Daily Prophet.

His father picked his own cup back up and made a dismissive gesture with his eyes that Draco just _despised_, "Well, you'll stop that immediately of course, I won't have my son catering to the capricious whims of Harry Potter."

He was outraged, what in all of the conversations that they'd had over the past two years made his father believe that a simple order to cease and desist would ever work, "Father, I don't have time for silly childhood rivalries, or ridiculous issues of pride, if I help Potter, it could lend enormous credibility to my name. Not everyone psychologically cures the Savior of the Wizarding World. If you can't do anything but give orders, I suggest you leave."

Draco put his cup down and locked eyes with his father. There was shock there. Shock and a very small breed of respect. Also a great deal of anger. However, his father was a stoic man, and he held it in, "Very well Draco, until we talk again."

"Have a pleasant evening father."

Lucius disappeared into the floo and Draco was left leaning against his counter, wondering why he'd just taken a stand for his right to help Harry Potter.

He chuckled darkly and picked up the teacups. As he washed them, he wondered if Harry had left the study since he'd left.

Probably not.


	5. Do Not Pass Go or We The People

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

By: Lunatic with a Hero Complex

Chapter 4: **Do Not Pass Go**** or ****We The People**

Draco hated guilt. Despised it. Absolutely loathed it. However, all of this strong and severe dislike did nothing to prevent him from feeling it.

And he was most definitely feeling it.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he did not want to go back to Potter's house. He'd set the man back, and he had no one to blame for it, but himself.

So he was sitting at a table, in a café, drinking coffee. Not because he was avoiding Harry, no of course not. He just really wanted coffee.

Sure.

He was so absorbed in convincing himself he _really_ loved coffee that he didn't notice immediately when his personal space was once again invaded by Granger.

This distraction alone was the reason he was unprepared when her voice cracked down the middle of his cerebrum.

"What did you do?"

Draco looked up in alarm, almost choking on his sip of coffee, "What do you mean, Granger?" He tried desperately to look blameless.

Apparently, he failed.

"Harry's even farther gone than before!"

"I did say it would not be a speedy recovery."

"Yes, but I didn't expect him to go backwards!"

He grasped onto the first thing he could think of, "That's why you came to _me_, Granger, you didn't know what to do."

Shame flitted across her face and inner Draco rejoiced.

"I just get so worried about him. This man is my best friend."

He proceeded with caution, "Just because Potter and I aren't exactly old chums doesn't mean that I'm going to make him suffer, I'm not the villain in this story. I am doing what I can to help him, but as I told you, it will be a slow process."

Granger seemed to deflate a little, "I understand Draco, I'm sorry for accusing you like that, have a good day."

She began to turn around and leave, and Draco just felt so inescapably…sullied, shoving his guilt off on her, that he called out, "Wait, Granger, I suppose it can't hurt if you have a few questions."

She beamed at him and flounced around and took the seat across from him. She seemed comfortable in the space, and he found that he was not surprised. The shop was frequented throughout the school year by desperate scholars, striving to absorb more information in 12 hours than was humanly possible and needing caffeinated beverages to make that sponge-like behavior possible.

She seemed to assume the momentary guise of a ministry interrogator and appeared to be unfolding a mental list of questions.

"Do you think he's getting better, and how can you tell?"

His reply.

"Steadily lengthening spans of coherence, an understanding of his situation, and a solid effort to understand his illness and get rid of it."

Question.

"Do you know what's causing it?"

His reply.

" We think that he's suffering adverse effects from repeated exposure to _Avada Kedavra_."

Contemplative silence.

"That does make sense, I suppose. Its not exactly a spell that's meant to make living easier, is it?"

A mutter.

"You'd be surprised."

A look of hunger on her face, knowledge madness, an epidemic. Oh who was he kidding…Granger was a modern freak.

"I'm going to look into that."

A snort, quickly muffled.

"I doubt there's anything you can find that Potter hasn't probably already pillaged for information."

Granger nodded thoughtfully, not so much agreeing as considering, finally she smiled gently at him, and Draco could almost see what made her pleasant to be around. She nodded and rose, "Thank you, Draco. Have a good day."

Interrogation Tape Ends.

Draco blinked at her dazedly for a moment, "You too, Granger."

She left, and he returned to his coffee.

The coffee was slightly cold, and this annoyed him. What annoyed him more however, was that now, he was going to have to go to Potter's house, just to feel respectable again.

Damn it.

* * *

Malfoys did not need a college education. That was his father's creed and motto, or at least one of them. Another one was that Malfoys did not work.

Unfortunately for Draco, despite the fact that his scholarships prevented the need for tuition or rent, it was still necessary for Draco to break the latter creed, in order for him to actually eat _food_ while breaking the former.

It was one thing that he and his father were definitely agreed on. It was…unpleasant…to labor for 8 galleons an hour. He did not appreciate the satisfaction of earning your own money. He did not respect himself more for having put in an honest day's work. And he most definitely did not feel unified with the rest of the world by being an honest member of the work force.

What he did feel was sick of having sore feet from moving constantly. He felt nauseated by the constant lingering aroma of pasta that seemed to occupy his skin. And he felt underappreciated by the dozens of people that came and went, leaving shoddy tips after he was perfectly and painfully courteous.

Simply stated, Draco Malfoy hated being a waiter.

Right now, he was simultaneously considering the best approach for when he returned to Potter's house after work, remembering that the couple at table 12 needed a refill for a pumpkin juice and a coke, andddd…wondering what the hell Ronald Weasley was doing staring daggers at him from across the room.

Wait a minute.

It must be Ask Draco Day, he'd forgotten to check his calendar.

Pushing the Weasel temporarily out of his mind, he swiftly refilled the beverages, took the order for the couple at table 8, stopped a major waiter pile up in between tables 10 and 13, bullied one of the younger waiters into temporarily handling his tables, and grabbed a pack of fags. Turning, he gestured for Weasley to meet him out back.

When he got out there, it was a few minutes before the red headed wonder turned the corner. Draco patiently took a drag and waited for the lecture he was sure was about to come.

He was not disappointed.

"Listen, Malfoy, I know that you're all 'reformed' now, and you may be helping Harry, but I just want you to remember, I'm keeping an eye on you."

Draco took another lengthy drag and dropped the cigarette, twisting it out with his boot, "Weasley, what exactly do you imagine I am going to do to Potter that is so dastardly without having the entirety of the wizarding world, including your formidable self, collapse onto me in vengeance?"

When he felt that his speech had set in sufficiently, he slowly raised his right eyebrow for maximum sarcastic effect.

Weasley was quiet, his mouth slightly ajar. Draco leaned forward and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, "Weasley, I work as a waiter, I attend a university on scholarship, its been 2 years, I've grown up, and so have you. I'm not going to do anything to Potter, well nothing that doesn't actually need to be done to bring him back. So, let's just agree to see as little of each other as possible in the process, yeah?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned around and made his way back into the kitchen of _La Galaxie_, coming back in just in time to catch the orders for Table 8 and relieve the rookie waiter before he lost him his job.

* * *

Without doubt, he should be ashamed of himself. At least last time, he'd spent 15 minutes in the kitchen. Right now, he was having trouble getting through the front door. He hated his fear. So he was going to have to get over it.

But, said the five year old setting up inside of his soul, he didn't _want_ to. Absently, he ran a sweaty palm over the rough weave of his jeans.

The sky was proud tonight, cloudless, the stars bright. It was laughing at him right now. He hated cocky horizons.

Finally, he opened the door and went in. The house was…not quiet. Faintly, Draco could hear a steady bass thumping. It sounded like a giant heartbeat. It definitely appeared to be coming from the study. Immediately, images of jettisoning desks ran behind his eyes, and he ran for the room.

Potter was sitting cross legged on top of his desk, another book open in his lap. However, his attention was not on the book, it was on the…well he supposed it could be called a mural…on the far wall. The wall that met up with the massive bookcase in the study had been bared of any and all previous decoration. In its place, Potter was assembling some form of chart, or art, that only he could truly interpret.

Draco discovered the source of the pounding at the same time. Every piece of wooden furniture that Harry was not currently sitting on was systematically being lifted, _wandlessly _no less, and slammed into the floor until all that was left was broken chunks of wood, splintered and separated from their mates by the ultimate hatred of opposing action. The shards flew, still bloody wandlessly, to join the seemingly random design building itself on the far wall.

Just as an innocent armchair rose and began to pound itself into the floor, Draco inched into the room, wary of the sheer amount of power that was circulating in this enclosed space. While he was wandlessly beating a thirty pound chair against the floor was not the time to test Harry's docility.

He carefully made his way to Harry's side, noting that once again, his charge was smelling less than fresh, and slowly eased himself up beside the man. He gently cast another cleansing spell and put his wand away. He was quiet for a moment, almost peacefully watching as the armchair finally gave up and let it go. The dismembered bits moved to the wall in a ballet of movement.

"It's a little abstract, but I like the contrast."

Little to nothing.

Okay, so speech wasn't enough today. He reached down and jerked the book resting in Potter's lap out of it, launching it across the room to an abrupt halt against the door, which was attempting to wrench itself from the hinges. He did not want that door to start bashing itself against the floor. Luckily, as the book sailed from Potter's lap and hit that door, it abruptly stopped its struggle.

Draco turned to look at his face, his arm still vaguely outstretched from the throw, to watch the reaction. Harry turned to look at him, another uncomfortable jerking motion, and Draco saw the anger surfacing.

Briefly, he felt a wave of exasperation at himself for putting them back at the second session's level, but he pushed it away to focus on the now. Reaching his hands out, he once again planted his hands on either side of that dark head of hair and jerked the face closer. The hair, despite the _Scourgify_, was still oily, but the eyes were once again that absorbing blankness.

"Focus."

It was just one word, but Draco felt that it wasn't really important what he was saying, so much as what he did and where he was looking while saying it. This game was dangerous, being so close to him. From 6 inches away, madness looked so inviting.

Never having to worry about more than one thing, complete and total understanding of everything that you needed to understand, the rest was silence. It was far more seductive than he'd ever anticipated insanity to be.

There was a sense of warmth, of desire, trickling along the back of his neck. He could just lean a little forward, and fall into that blankness, and he could be peaceful. It would be so easy.

Draco had gone forward an inch before he realized what he was doing and he jerked back, eyes widening. The air around him was thicker, muggier. Harry's magic was happy being used, and it was attempting to keep Draco from stopping that.

He had not foreseen this. That Harry's madness would join forces with Harry's magic and attempt to pull him down too. That could be a problem. He tightened his grip, and tried again.

"Focus."

Harry's head tried to jerk away, and he began to look a little panicked, but Draco just kept holding, tightening his grip as needed, whispering fierce instructions to keep his mind in one place.

The air began to thin out, the eyes began to fill up again, with all the clutter that makes a man, and the tension between Draco's fingers began to slip.

All of a sudden Harry gasped, and his eyes widened impossibly further, and a great crash resounded from across the room as all of the 'artwork' that he'd assembled fell to the floor without his magic to support it.

When he felt that there was enough of Harry there, Draco stood and pulled him from the room. He was followed compliantly all the way to the kitchen. Conjuring a wooden chair from a renegade liquor bottle, he sat the man in it and leaned against the counter, softly toning, "Kreacher."

When the house elf appeared, obediently turned towards the person who'd called him, Draco absently asked him to prepare some food, of the same ilk as the last time, and then waited for Harry to gather his wits.

The elf gladly moved to the kitchen behind Draco and began rambling about, making broth and slicing bread.

Harry finally looked up, and he looked tired. Draco wasn't really surprised, but he supposed it still wasn't a good sign. Before Potter had a chance to speak, Draco asked his own question, "Do you know what you were working towards with your woodwork back there?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, his elbow resting on his knees. When he did finally speak, it was almost too low to be heard, "I'd convinced myself that if I made the wood form the right pentagram, then I would be able to exorcise the 'green' out. I think I got it from a Catholic book. The bookstore is running out of things to send me."

Draco couldn't really think of anything to say to that, so he just nodded and hummed, "Mmmhmm."

The silence was broken when Draco spoke again, "We have a new complication."

Curiously enough, Draco did not want to add more problems onto Harry's shoulders, but this was something that could not be left alone.

Potter's shoulders hunched involuntarily, he seemed resigned to the constant flow of 'new complications' in his life, "What?"

"Your magic tried to break my mind."

He really hadn't meant to phrase it so bluntly, and he felt bad about it when Potter recoiled as though struck, "It…what?"

To his surprise, the reply was not in the form of a shout, more of a scared whisper.

"When I was working to bring you out, your magic tried to make me…" He struggled for a way to explain what he had felt, what had almost happened, "tried to…bring me _in_."

The dark head looked up and they stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Any new ideas about the problems we already knew about?"

"None. I was interrogated by Granger, Weasley attempted to muscle me into good behavior, and my father discovered my…" he gestured vaguely in Harry's direction, "…hobby. He was not happy."

Harry giggled and seemed startled to hear the sound come out of his mouth, "Yeah, I guess the noble scion of the Malfoy line playing Freud to Harry Potter really wouldn't be ideal."

Draco simply lifted a golden eyebrow in response and only succeeded in eliciting another chuckle from the brunette.

"I'm sorry, you just look like such a 'villain' when you do that. Its almost funny."

Beat.

"Po-Harry. It is true that a lot of your problems are simply side effects from the killing curse, but I think that it is safe to say that you would not be suffering so…severely…if there weren't some issues that are…bothering you."

"I'm not sure what you.."

"Gods Damn it, Potter, you've died two fucking times, and you're creating folk art out of hardwood furniture. You systematically spot out of sanity and you can pull a 3 inch thick, solid wood door from its hinges wandlessly, without really trying, something is on you're fucking mind! You can either talk to me about it, or you can talk to your friends, but for any other kind of treatment to work, you're going to have to work out your hero complex."

Again, silence paused and looked around the room before walking out, "I'm not sure how much I'll be comfortable telling you, Malfoy…sharing has never exactly gotten me into the best of places…but…we'll work on it."

Potter stood up, gingerly, using his hands on his thighs to push himself to a standing position while he spoke. Draco shifted cautiously, not liking Potter moving around before he'd eaten. It was then that Draco noticed that Kreacher, due to a glaring and awkward lack of table, had set the food out on the counter behind him. Oh…so that's why Potter…nevermind.

"What exactly do you propose, Potter?"

"I don't know, I just…I don't sit still well. You got lucky last time, I was hungrier than I was fidgety."

Draco rolled his eyes and moved opposite the side of the counter that Harry was approaching. He had one more warning to make, and with it, he would be binding himself in responsibility to Potter's ability to heal. This was irrevocable.

"Now, if you feel like you might be slipping, you have to tell me, I can't help if I don't catch it early. No matter what we're doing, just tell me. For now though, just eat, I didn't think it was possible, but you look even skinnier than you did last time, and it is so far past unhealthy it's not even funny."

They ate. Quietly.

When they were finished, Draco moved towards the exit to the livingroom, "Let's move this back into your room, as it seems to be the only place left that you haven't destroyed all of the furniture from…!" When Potter turned on his foot and attempted to follow him, some weakness in his leg, no doubt caused by weeks of sitting in one position, made it buckle, sending him towards the floor. However, before Harry could get intimately associated with the linoleum, Draco caught him.

When the man looked up at him, in surprise and…gratitude… Draco felt slightly paralyzed. He'd spent a good portion of the last few weeks of his life checking those eyes for clarity, and marveling at the seduction of madness. But never, had he simply stopped to admire the startling nature of their color. They were so very…green.

Harry blinked, and it brought Draco out of the side note he'd been constructing in his head, and he set the man to rights, and turned once more to go the master bedroom. It wasn't unusual to find such a bright eye color so startling. The human eye was drawn to vivid color, it was natural.

That's right…vivid. Because that green was in no way…beautiful.


	6. When the Dark Night Goes Silently

Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love

Chapter 5

By Lunatic with a Hero Complex

"Give it to me!"

"I don't think you actually deserve this."

"Come on, I bought it fair and square."

"Fine, take your 'property.'"

"Yes! Boardwalk!"

Draco huffed, disgruntled, "I deeply doubt that this has any therapeutic value, Potter."

He knew he was trying to be a more sensitive ear for his patient, but Draco did not like to lose, especially at Muggle children's games. He watched as Harry joyfully put his little blue card in the correct spot on his side of the infuriating little square board.

As he watched, Harry looked up, and the face, so lacking in its usual shadow, so childishly pleased at his own accomplishments, made Draco catch and he almost missed the retort.

"Well, talking only takes up half of my mind, so its either this, or I go back to office folk art."

Harry blissfully went back to organizing his imaginary fortune and there was a comfortable moment of silence.

Wincing internally, Draco broke it, "You know, Harry, despite that rousing explanation, you haven't actually been talking really."

Seeing the mouth opening to retort, he broke him off, "About what you're _supposed_ to be talking about anyway. I will concede, you have been more than vocal on your opinions of the picks for the Cup, your thoughts on whether the rich should bother marrying for money, your hatred of pickles, your love of treacle tart, and your deep understanding of the misery of a dog's life. However, you've yet to touch on what it is exactly, that made you go down so fast during our conversation a few weeks ago."

Despite his new found respect for Potter's psyche, he was satisfied to see the darkening blush of embarrassment. The Monopoly war forgotten, Harry subconsciously drew his legs into the arm chair with him, and leaned his chin against his knees.

Draco was prepared for a short time of leaning forward to hear a timid voice explain to him what else, besides his imminent, and apparently repetitive, death was torturing his inner carpenter. Instead, Harry's head came off of its perch, leaving the knees alone in their place, and Draco caught the light in them and knew, just fucking knew, that right then he was not getting the Golden Boy Glow, but the sight of sunlight on steel in the spine of a warrior.

He both hated and loved that sight.

Warriors were strong, were dependable, fighters. They would get out of things and keep coming back.

Warriors were also constantly in danger. Warriors often did not return from their travels.

Draco wanted Harry to return.

He definitely could not think on that right now.

Besides, Harry was speaking.

"Though I definitely do not want it to be common knowledge, what Hermione told you about the end of the war is not my most guarded secret. Not even my best friends know it really, well at least more than the PG 13 version."

Far from his former attitude of 'want to know it all', Draco now understood the nature of knowledge in the Potter universe, and it generally turned out that what he had been so eager to know was actually something he would've preferred leaving in the great vast void of the unknown.

Despite this, he grit his teeth, and found some desire for knowledge, "I've sworn not to use what you tell me against you, and I've promised not to tell it to any other person. If you don't tell me, and you won't tell your friends, then, like I've said many times in the past few days, this just won't help at all."

Draco was glad to see the steel rust a little. Again, Harry's knee found his chin, and the two rested together for a moment.

Potter was still disgustingly thin. Draco wasn't sure if he'd ever get back to his original weight. He hoped he did. He found himself missing the Quidditch body he remembered.

Because it was healthier, of course.

He moved his inspection on to the hair, cleaner, more lively than it had been in weeks. It was once again attempting its escape from Harry's head. The sight made him glad.

He was startled out of his ruminations by the sound of Harry's voice, steady, but smaller somehow. Not weaker, just…less there.

"I've always been small you know, even when I was at the top of my physical condition during the war, I was smaller than most of the other guys my age."

He stopped and appeared to have a struggle internally, breaking some personal barriers before proceeding.

"But I suppose when you live in a four by six foot space for eleven years and attempt to survive on whatever you can safely burn while you're cooking dinner, your development is going to be stunted."

Draco most definitely did not like where this conversation was going. He did not like it because he couldn't quite comprehend exactly what Harry was saying. His mind would almost get the implication, and then would shy away like a frightened horse, and leave him just nearly clueless.

It must have showed on his face, because Harry let out an exasperated chuckle, and lent his forehead once more against his knee. His voice carried from its muffled position, "My relatives hated magic, Draco, and as the wizarding world was unavailable to account for its mistakes, I was used as its surrogate whipping boy."

It felt as though Draco's mind was finally grasping what he was supposed to be understanding, but he still refused to completely believe anything without _knowing_ what was meant, "What…?"

Harry lifted his head, and Draco did not like how cold his face had gone, "My aunt and uncle hated me, so they starved me, made me sleep in a cupboard, and worked me like a house elf. My cousin had no thoughts of his own, not until we met for the last time anyway, and generally found it best to hate me in turn. I did not have friends, I did not know human contact, and I did not know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday. Is that quite clear enough?"

Draco found that, yes, that was just clear enough.

Despite what he had heard about Harry Potter in the past few weeks since he'd taken on his case, Draco found that he'd still been thinking of him as a pampered hero in the back of his mind.

The residual image of the Boy Who Lived, that was used to supply his demonstrative diagrams in every day life, was arrogant, and spoiled, and altogether nothing, he now knew, like the actual person.

He did his best to not let that change appear on his face. It was best if Harry was of the opinion that Draco had already been fully on his side before the confession.

"You know, suddenly, I really don't feel like Monopoly. I think I'm going to go to my study. We can talk later."

Draco did not like the distant quality of that voice. It was as though Potter was already fading away, soon to be left with just Harry, a creature created of research and madness.

Not really thinking before hand, he just reached out and grabbed Potter's wrist as he rose to go, "After all of the trouble you went through to get me to play this blasted game, you're just going to leave in the middle? I don't think so Potter."

He let a wry smirk twist his mouth, and hoped that it seemed real enough to convince Potter.

At first, he just looked at Draco's hand on his wrist as if it were something he'd never seen before. After a moment of silence, his features opened and spiraled out in to something akin to mischievousness, "You just don't want me to quit while you're losing. Don't try to pin this on me."

He turned slowly, the smirk taking root and growing into a light of battle, and Draco breathed an internal sigh of relief.

If Potter had gone to that study, it would have felt like a failure.

Draco was not into failure.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how Draco had done it, but he knew that he was grateful. He'd not really had control when he got up to go to the study. Whatever it was that had kept him in there in the first place actually pulled him towards it. Which meant that there was a good chance that they were dealing with something more serious than they had believed. That, paired with Harry's magic attempting to pull Draco down into his madness, was turning into a story that had not yet revealed its plot.

He sat back down in front of the board, and returned to the conversation, uncomfortable with the fact that he could still feel Draco's hand on his wrist as a band of blazing warmth.

* * *

Harry was looking better every day. There were mornings when Draco came over and Harry was glazed in the study, sometimes not even reading just staring.

However, the frequency of Draco's visits made sure that the bouts of madness did not go on long enough to debilitate him. As a result, Harry was constantly improving in health.

The dark spot was that they still had not figured out why Harry's madness had taken on a separate sentience. It had not reached the intensity that it had the day it had tried to bring down Draco, but it still showed through at odd moments, pulling on Harry, tugging him in the worst direction at his worst moments. Nor had they figured out a way to help heal Harry from his current symptoms, never mind about the ones that might come.

Despite how well Harry was doing, it was fairly obvious that this was just a stop gap sort of treatment. Draco could not spend the rest of his life coming to visit Harry daily. Though they were forming a friendship, it was not something that made any sort of rational sense. Harry realized this. Draco realized this. That did not make it any easier to figure out anything about Harry's problem.

The day that they had been looking for, the day that made the difference, was the day Draco tried to organize a field trip.

He was looking better, stronger, but Harry was still frightfully pale. Draco believed that another good thing in Harry's life right now would be sunshine. Lots of sunshine. So, he'd decided to take Harry to the park in a desperate bid for a double achievement of sunshine acquired while also making better childhood memories.

He wasn't sure how to help a man with a neglected childhood. So he was being generic, hoping he would be able to narrow it down more specifically later. It was the best he could do on short notice. Not that there really ever was any other kind of notice with Potter.

His erstwhile patient looked excited, but nervous. Draco supposed he could see why. Harry hadn't been in a public place for nearly a month. The man that was Harry Potter would be lonely for both human company and the beauty of the wizarding world. The patient that was just Harry would feel crowded and judged.

Harry had put on jeans and a dark green t-shirt with a grey jumper, so at least he hadn't forgotten how to dress himself in something other than pajamas. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, picking at the hem of his shirt and refusing to raise his eyes, so Draco just moved around him, getting things in order, packing a lunch from the recently restored pantry and casting the appropriate cooling or heating charms.

When he could dawdle no longer, he turned to Potter, "Are you ready to go?"

No words, just a nod.

Draco huffed, "Listen Potter, I'm not a warden, if you don't want to go out, tell me and we will call it off and wait for a day when you feel more comfortable with it. The last thing I want to do is make you extremely nervous in a public place, when you spontaneously suffer from bouts of insanity."

What Draco expected was a denial, or a confirmation of his willingness to get out. What Draco did not expect was for Harry to raise his head with a wide eyed sort of look on his face and then burst into a spontaneous cacophony of laughter. Potter looked surprised at his own actions, but he just kept laughing, holding his sides and sliding down the counter.

Draco just stood there, his arm still vaguely outstretched.

Harry kept trying to explain, "Bouts…(ha ha ha) of insanity…(ha ha ha) in public…(ha ha ha) you could (ha) get me a leash! ( ha ha ha)"

Finally, the laughter died down and Potter just sat slumped weakly but happily against the counter.

Draco let his arm lower and felt a smile pull at his mouth, it was a nervous smile, like it wasn't sure it should be out at this time of day.

"Are you quite finished?"

Potter rolled his head to look up at him, and his face was just so undeniably content that Draco felt glad. "Yes, I think I'm good and laughed out."

He got up and started picking up the hamper and blanket, when Draco didn't immediately move, he turned back to him, "Are you coming?"

Draco just nodded.

* * *

Their day at the park was going well. Potter had responded beautifully to all of the sunshine and greenery. It was Summer and everything was at its most charming. They'd brought a broom and it was a wizarding park, so Harry had gone flying.

As always, Draco had to admit, if only to himself, that watching Harry Potter on a broom was one of the most graceful and _right_ things that he had ever seen. Even if Potter's mind was slowly breaking down, he still was fearless and perfect in the sky. Every dive and roll was both terrifying and uplifting.

After that, the rest of the day had been golden. Not a single episode had even dared to try and surface.

It was after their late-ish picnic lunch, that the real breakthrough occurred.

They had glamored Harry's scar and hair, hoping that a day of anonymity would be more therapeutic. Draco was sitting, sipping his pumpkin juice and watching Potter put away more food, when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the basic outline of a man, behind a tree about 20 yards away. He couldn't see clearly from this angle, but the hairs on the back of his neck said that the man was staring in their direction.

Casually, Draco half lidded his eyes and did a twisting stretch to pop the kinks out of his back. As he'd thought, the figure darted back behind the tree when Draco even slightly turned in his direction.

Having acquired the only real knowledge he thought they could reasonably gain for right now, Draco turned back to Potter.

He froze.

Potter was still joyfully munching on a sandwich, but his eyes were glacial. He wasn't upset with Draco, he could tell that, but those eyes, they were dangerous. Harry kept smiling and leaned forward as if he wanted to tell Draco a really good joke, "He's been watching us since we got here. I don't know him, but he's not a real professional sort of fellow. Every time I even slightly move my eyes in his direction, he dives like a base runner to get out of my sightline. That's more likely to draw attention then if he just casually pretended to be out playing.

Draco was once again, forcefully reminded that the man he was treating was a war hero; one of the strongest wizards of his time, and the defeater of the possibly most evil wizard that the world had ever seen. He may be at a definite low point in his mental health, but this was not a wizard that went silently into the dark night.

He somehow kept forgetting. He wasn't sure why.

Draco leaned in to reciprocate, laughing like the imaginary joke was particularly amusing, "Why haven't you said anything?" Here, Harry looked a little embarrassed. He ducked his head, which fit in with the image of nonchalance they were going for, but was still genuine, then he mumbled, "I wanted to see if you would notice on your own. I just know I always prefer it when I learn to notice things like that on my own."

Draco just leaned back into a regular sitting position, still grinning slightly for appearances…mostly, "Oh."

Harry smiled sheepishly and then absently turned back to eating his sandwich.

Draco found it endearing, but he did notice, that despite his embarrassment, Harry's eyes were always tracking the lone observer, discreetly of course.

* * *

It was near the end of the day. They'd attempted to go on normally despite their spectator and were succeeding spectacularly. Harry and Draco had started a rousing tournament of Exploding Snap, setting up a little ward so none of the grass would catch fire.

Draco was setting down his card when he saw panic light up in Potter's eyes, he heard the words, "Shit, his wand!" Before the stack of cards did their job and exploded in minor. Just enough noise and distraction for Draco to turn away for a second. When he turned back to Potter he saw a green glow fading into his skin and even worse, Harry's eyes were two shades too dark, they were forest green. And his game partner was silent, staring.

Draco noticed that it had gotten cloudy at some point.

He shook Harry's shoulder, hoping to snap him out of it.

Immediately Potter was mumbling, "No, please, no no no no, not the green, I'm sorry I'm so sorry, I thought it was over, I didn't know please just make it stop, I have to make it stop. So green so green so green…"

Draco felt like crying, he shook Harry harder, hoping he could break the madness inside of him, "Please, come on Harry, just snap out of it!"

As Draco felt his tears start to overcome him, it started to rain.


End file.
